


And They Were Roomates (Oh my God They Were Roomates)

by bluejaygemini



Category: Deadpool - Fandom, Marvel, Spiderman - Fandom, spiderpool - Fandom
Genre: A lot of miscommunication, Bad Flirting, Bisexual Spiderman, Chimichangas And Feelings, Crushes, Fluff, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Pansexual deadpool, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is 21, Rocky Horror dates, Star Wars Jokes, THIS IS NOT MCU SPIDEYPOOL, This Is STUPID, Wade is 29, Will they ever bone? A mystery that plagues all, a stupid vine reference because I am a child, canon timelines? What's that?, deadpool being weird, domestic bullshit, first attempt at any fanfiction ever, happy endings, peter parker is a fucking NERD, romcom plots, stupid puns, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejaygemini/pseuds/bluejaygemini
Summary: Peter Parker needs a roommate, and the hunt isn't going so well. A foul-mouthed, mysterious stranger is about to solve that problem -and create a plethora of new ones. Fate has a funny way of bringing people into your life, and sometimes fate decides that's gonna happen in a laundromat at two in the morning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Character choices are based loosely on their current comic adaptations with a dash of how I personally like to interpret them, so imagine them however you please, so long as it's not MCU

2AM. Quick Coin Laundromat. Queens.

 

It's brightly lit in white, with large panels shining down on the dingy white floor. It's too bright in Peter Parker's opinion. It's reminiscent a hospital. The obnoxious pink and blue sign outside is flickering. It seems it'd probably be dead silent without the gentle whirring and wooshing of the laundry machines in the background, but that's nothing of note, really. There's exactly four people there, including himself. A short, old, white haired woman in a bahamas tourist T shirt with a smiling sun and some phallic looking palm trees on it, also wearing a pair of sunglasses (It's two in the morning. Why are you wearing sunglasses?), a what-he'd-assume to be homeless man, tired-looking and beaten, muttering and counting out coins in his palm to ensure he had enough to pay the machine, and a suspicious looking man with his hood up in a red sweatshirt. This man was tall and well built, not that Peter would ever notice such a thing. (Peter would definitely notice such a thing, and most definitely did. He mentally scolded himself for being shallow.) He was sat in the corner staring at an iPhone. Bright rainbow-ish looking light was emitting from the screen and small sounds popped into earshot every few seconds. Peter glanced up from the book he'd been reading and noticed a rather unusual amount of red in the laundry machine the man was sitting next to. Good god, it was like a crime scene swirling around in there. Least whoever that guy is has the decency to wash it.

 

Peter had definitely not planned on being in that laundromat that early in the morning, but after a rather unfortunate -and gross-interaction with a _very_  drunken man after splitting him up from getting too non-consensually-cozy with an innocent woman in an alleyway, poor spiderman's suit was covered in this drunken man's vomit. "Be a superhero, Tony said, I'll help you make the suit, Tony said, it'll be fun, Tony said.." So after shamefully dredging back to his backpack a few blocks away (And trying not to touch anything) Peter ended up in an old, raggedy, far-too-tight-for-anyone's-good Star Wars t-shirt and sweatpants, having forgotten when he brought it along that those were the only clothes in his backpack since spending the night at a friend's studying last week. Now there he was, in Quick Coin Laundromat, in Queens, at two in the morning, watching his beloved suit spin round and round in an old washing machine. He would've just changed in the alley and gone home to wash it, but Peter was uh, how do you say, Poor as Shit. The washing machine broke down yesterday, after becoming an unfortunate victim of a prototype hybrid hydriodic acid-based web fluid being placed too close to the laundry detergent. Aaand he was way too poor to fix it. There goes Peter's favourite t-shirt.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Peter spotted the red sweatshirt man put his phone away and stand up to do what Peter assumed would be retrieve his laundry. Somehow, he hadn't noticed until the man stood up that the only two other people had left sometime in the last few minutes. More likely than not the man would also be leaving soon, seeing as most the blood appeared to be clean of whatever he had in the machine, meaning Peter could safely take out and change back into his suit without anyone to notice. He went back to his book, spider-senses waiting for the all clear. Well, much to the web-slinger's surprise, the man decided to sit down next to him. An odd choice, as he'd been far enough away to consider sitting down next to him out of the ordinary. Not that taking a seat next to a random stranger in an entirely empty establishment isn't already out of the ordinary, mind you. The stranger leaned over almost immediately to show Peter whatever he had been playing on his phone. "Look." He sounded serious. A bit of a high pitched voice, he had a confident tone though. Peter, having been put a bit on the spot, looked at the iPhone screen, if out of nothing but curiosity as to why it was so important to this guy he look at it. The phone had some bright, loud, pink and yellow game, with little cartoon unicorns and a bunch of glittery shit everywhere. The title at the top said "Pony Princess Horse Race". Slowly, and definitely now in a state of confusion, Peter scratched the back of his head, not having a clue what to say or do. "I got a highscore." the man announced proudly. "I-uh, good for you." Peter hesitated. The guy stored the iPhone back in his pocket and straightened back up. "So, might I ask, what brings you to this establishment at this _fine_ hour, kind sir?" he cooed in a mock English accent. "Oh, uh- Washing machine at home broke down, and this is probably cheaper than trying to fix it." I mean, that wasn't a lie, was it? The one at home is actually broken. Peter was still having a little trouble coming up with answers when he feared someone might find out about the suit. You'd think six years lying to his friends and Aunt May about it might've made him more comfortable coming up with lies, but nope, never changes. At least he lived in an apartment by himself now, as desperate for a roommate he was, if he could actually afford to pay the rent himself he would. It's a whole lot easier to sneak in when there's never anyone else home. Nonetheless, he was still a broke college student. He still had two weeks till this month's was due, so that's still two weeks to find said roommate.

 

After a moment of the other man staying silent, Peter paused for a second, then reluctantly asked, "So why are _you_ here?" He sighed lightly, and lazily informed Peter, "Oh, same old, same old. The Norwegian woman who usually hand-board-washes my laundry for me got tangled up in a pretty high profile Torsk smuggling job. Customs threw her  _Rumpe_  in jail." The man folded his arms and they sat in silence for a moment more. At this point both their machines had finished their cycles, and Peter was growing slightly anxious to get out of there. Although, he will admit this guy was kind of holding his interest. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in scrubbing my delicates on a washboard in traditional Scandinavian garb, would you?" The man paused and looked at him for a moment."I'd pay you.' Peter chuckled uncomfortably. He was joking, right? What the fuck. The red-clad stranger readjusted and put his hand out in gesture of a handshake. "Wade W. Wilson, at your service." The mock english accent returned on his last few words. Hesitantly, Peter reached out and shook his hand. "I'm Peter." He paused. "Parker." "Well, mister Parker, it would seem I have places to be." Wade rolled back the sleeve of his hoodie to glance at a hello Kitty watch. Peter wasn't sure if Wade was aware it was well over three or four hours off. "I-uh, I have to get going too." Again, technically not a lie, he was technically still supposed to be on patrol until sunrise. He silently thanked himself yet again for signing up for evening classes. Wade stood up, made a dramatic show of stretching, and walked over to where he had been sat before. He reached under the seat and pulled out a hello kitty duffel bag, and proceeded to dump the now mostly-dry contents of the laundry machine into said bag. Peter took note of the fact whatever he pulled out was red, and silently joked in his mind that it was probably on account of the amount of blood it seemed to have absorbed.

 

Realizing he'd soon be alone and able to get back to patrol, he straightened up and got ready to grab the contents of the machine as soon as his new er-acquaintance left. As this new acquaintance walked toward the exit, he turned inattentively and waved at Peter lazily. "Toodles." he whistled. Peter looked at the dingy white floors and realized there was a trail of orangey-water-diluted-blood that had dripped out the exit with whatever had been in that duffle bag. He laughed a little at the realization. He finally grabbed his now vomit-free suit from the dryer and ran to the men's bathroom to change. As spider-man emerged from the back exit into the alley, he swung off into the night, with an inexplicable feeling Wade Wilson was going to be a hard name to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

7:02 PM. Roof of some expensive high rise. Brooklyn.

The Spider-man sat on the thick concrete railing with his feet dangling carelessly over the edge, watching the sun set across New York. His mask was half up, and he was enjoying a food truck taco with some questionably grey-looking chicken inside. The roof was a good vantage point over the area, and even though he'd admit to being off guard if anything were to go down, it was a good place to spot any fights or crime-stopping-worthy behavior going down. There was a door on the roof, but he'd checked it and it was locked. Nobody would be up here. He had to admit that going out on patrol every night had been taking a toll on him as of late, and that he'd been sleeping pretty terribly the last few weeks. Usually Peter's schedule was crammed between studying and classes and running errands for Tony Stark and trying to fix whatever it was that was currently broken in his shithole apartment, and currently that was the kitchen sink, the bathroom door, and the washing machine. On top of all he did in the day,  _spider-man_ spent almost all night out looking for fights to split up (There was consistently never a shortage in this god forsaken city) and nights getting home before the crack of dawn were few and far between. Needless to say, Peter spent a lot of money on coffee. Having finished the grey-chicken taco and nonchalantly tossing the wrapper behind his head (He made mental note to pick it up before he left, spider-man doesn't litter) he felt himself begin to slouch and start to doze off. He sat back up with a start, mentally cursing his shitty sleep schedule. Relaxing a little, he continued his survey of the streets _below_ him. Suddenly, a loud scream pierced the background noise of the city. Peter's eyes zeroed in on a back alley a couple blocks away in which a rather filthy looking group of men were cornering a woman into the brick behind her, one pointing a gun at her sternum. Spiderman stood up on the ledge, and just as he was about to shoot a web to the next building on his way to save her, a voice started behind him. 

 

"Oh my god. Oh my god. It's spiderman. I can't believe it. Oh my god." The voice was muttering excitedly behind him. He turned around to a  _far_ too familiar sight. Deadpool. "To what do I owe the pleasure, webs?" Peter sighed a heavy sigh and ignored him, quickly retorting. "Go away, man. I have people to save." Deadpool skipped over to him, much too far into his personal space for his liking. "Ooooooooohhhh" Deadpool doted. At this point Peter didn't even know when that guy was being sarcastic or not. "Can I come? Preeeeetty pleeaaase?" How the hell did he even make that faux-puppy eyes face through that mask? "I know you're not so big on the ' _un-aliving_ ' thing, I could come along and do some good ol' slice and dice on your behalf!" Spider-man rolled his eyes under his mask. This? Again? "Get lost." He hissed, and turned around, webbing his way to the next building. The Spider-man swung from rooftop to rooftop, quickly landing at the scene he'd intended to shut down before the obnoxious mercenary had wasted a minute of his time. "You know, you should really buy her dinner first." He swiftly webbed the gun in one of the men's hand and slung it to him. Like little drones, the men quickly started cornering in on him, leaving the woman room to run. But no _o_ o _o_ she had to stay there and cry. "That was too harsh. She's probably really scared." He thought to himself. As the men started closing in on him he prepared to fight, but all of a sudden there was a rumbling in a nearby trashcan. Two or three of the gang looked over their shoulders at it, but continued closing in. The lid sprung off the can, and lo and behold, an obnoxiously familiar voice rang from it. " _Yoo hooo~"_ Deadpool's head stuck out of the trash can, covered in garbage. Spider-man slung up over and to the other side of the alleyway, hissing at the merc to kindly uh,  _get the fuck out._ The gang once again starting trying to corner them. "Aww, spidey, I thought you liked when we did couples' crime fighting." Deadpool cooed. "We are  _NOT_ a couple." Spider-man hissed back.  One of the gang men butted in. "Is this domestic shit or something?" He turned to the other guys and snorted. "We're gonna fuck us up a couple superhero faggots?" Peter's face went red under the mask. Spider-man does  _not_ un-alive people, but he definitely felt like doing so at this moment. "Shut your fuck." Deadpool answered, climbing out of his garbage pile. He unsheathed the katanas on his back and ran full force at the group, quickly going to town doing what Peter could only describe as uh, 'slice and dice". His heart sank to his stomach and his mind clambered for something he could do to stop it, but it was over so fast he was suddenly standing in front of a gory scene of dead criminals.

 

" _DUDE!_ " He stumbled over to Deadpool, slightly still in shock at what he had just witnessed. "What the fuck was that?! I told you I don't do that stuff!" He raged. The merc did seem to have a  _slightly_ guilty look on his masked face. " _You_  don't do that stuff.  _I_ do. The faggots thing was over the line. And it'd been like, an entire week since I'd done that. So it's basically fine." He made a halfhearted attempt to shake some of the stringy bits of guts off his blades before sheathing them on his back again. Peter was fuming. How was he supposed to handle this guy following him doing stuff like this all the time? Not to mention the merc's persistence in continuing to flirt with him at every given chance. Spider-man stood there for a moment, angry and racking his brain for reasons to be pissed at Deadpool. He knew he had about a million, but his mind was so clouded in shock and rage he was coming up blank. After a moment, Deadpool broke the angry silence. "Look man, I get it. I'm sorry. Un-aliving isn't your thing, and this was your case. I should've let you handle it. I'm sure you could've handled it." Peter wasn't even sure he was serious. He'd never sounded that sincere. Peter sighed heavily (If he had a dollar for every heavy sigh deadpool had caused, he might actually have enough for rent) and replied bitterly. "Thanks, I guess. Doesn't change the fact you just murdered six people. Definitely doesn't change the fact I'll never go on a date with you. At least the lady got away." He looked back to see if the woman was still in sight, having half-forgotten the gruesome scene behind him. Suddenly confronted with queasiness at the sight, he stumbled over to the brick wall and put his hand against it to steady himself. Even having been a quote-on-quote "superhero" for over six years now, Peter still didn't do so well with blood and guts. Not well at all, actually. He waited a second for some inconsiderate comment from behind him about how he should grow up or how good his ass looked from that angle. Both he would've straightened up and punched Deadpool in the throat for, but neither of which came. Instead, he walked over to him with a surprising lack of nasty comment. "You ok, webs? Need a tums or something?" Peter straightened up to face the merc. "Fine." He paused. ".. Thanks."

"Anytime, babe."

"Don't call me that."

"Anytime, dude bro."

"Don't call me that either." 

Spider-man shook off a little bit, trying to loosen up to get back to patrol. He'd never admit it, he didn't really even admit it to himself, but he had grown a bit to like Deadpool. NOT in a romantic way, _DEFINITELY_ not in a sexual way, but in a kind of  _weird-sad-I-don't-know-why-I-can't-hate-you_ way. "I gotta get back to patrol." He added shortly, walking quickly over to the opposite wall of the alley in attempts to find somewhere above to swing off to. Not technically a lie to get out of being around his red-clad acquaintance, he did have to get back, but getting away from Deadpool was definitely a plus of leaving. "Wanna grab tacos?" Deadpool cocked his head in a quizzical way. Did he even hear what Peter said? Probably not. He did quickly realize he was still pretty hungry, having only eaten once today. Was spending more time around him worth it for the possibility of not having to buy his own food? Probably not, but he was hungry nonetheless, and poor as shit, so after a moment of reflection and options-weighing, he replied.

"Only if you're buying."

"Of course I'm buying. I'm a top."

"Nevermind."

After approximately seven and a half minutes of Deadpool pleading and saying he was joking (For once, Peter was actually sure he wasn't joking), Spider-man reluctantly agreed. After an amount of doting only he could be accustomed to from a 'friend' and a very satisfying amount of mexican food, the two sat on the same highrise rooftop he had started the night on. He insisted they "hang out" there ("Hang out" being Deadpool's words,  _not_ his) so he could actually continue his survey of the city. They sat mostly either in silence, sometimes the merc would attempt to start a conversation and eventually end up talking to himself for a surprising amount of time. After a very prolonged period of silence, a couple instances of Peter dozing off for a bit, and an uneventful, crime-free night, the sun was finally beginning to rise over Brooklyn. Just a sliver of light was in the sky, which meant it was time for Spider-man to return home to Manhattan for his roughly two hours of sleep before morning classes. He sighed lightly, and informed his red-clad acquaintance it was time for him to be leaving. "Thanks for the food. I actually mean it." The merc smiled through his mask. "Don't mention it, webs." He paused for a minute. Just as Peter was about to swing off the roof and start on his way home, he spoke matter-of-factly. "You went on a date with me." Peter shook his head and flipped him the bird, but said nothing. He shot a web toward the next rooftop, and Deadpool watched him duck in and out of sight until he was gone. As he swung across the rooftops, he felt conflicted. Why couldn't he just hate him? Shouldn't it be easy? He crept into the window of his apartment and quickly changed into his pajamas. He'd only have about two or three hours sleep, but he'd grown generally accustomed to it. Actually felt good to have gotten an extra hour or so in on the rooftop throughout the night. As he laid down in attempts to get some shut-eye, he stared at the ceiling for a short moment and laughed a little to himself. Deadpool had started to remind him of that guy he met at the laundromat yesterday. Then he remembered, "Shit, I need to go back there this week." as the washing machine had definitely passed the point of no repair. What was that guy's name again? He told himself he really didn't want another weird interaction and that he hoped they wouldn't cross paths again, but a secret part of him was looking forward to it.


	3. Chapter 3

11:51 AM. Quick Coin laundromat. Queens. 

   
 Peter Parker sat at the back of the room, with earbuds in, blankly staring at the ceiling, waiting for the washing machine to ding. He'd finished with his morning courses at 11:30, and didn't have more until the afternoon, meaning there was time in his schedule to get this done. If you were to take a look at his chosen class schedule you'd probably think he'd done it with his eyes closed. It was a mess, but given his schedule at night, accommodations had to be made. He'd taken note of the days of the week where activity seemed to be highest among criminals, and unsurprisingly, those days were Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. There goes Peter's social life. So having strategically picked to take his early weekday courses mostly in the afternoon so he could sleep in, and cramming all Wednesday and Thursday with most everything else, his weekends were free for  _Spider-man_  to go out and do his thing. Unfortunately, his  _thing_  was currently a whole lot of nothing. The superhero business was especially slow lately, which was inherently good, but boring. The only point of interest the last week or so had been a certain red-clad dipshit trying to win his favour. Not that Peter  _disliked_  Deadpool, he was definitely a source of entertainment, the constant flirting just made him uncomfortable. And the fact the guy seemed to have literally no morality of any kind. He wasn't really even sure of his sexuality at this point, and made the decision to just 'leave it open' about a year ago. Not that his sexual orientation had anything to do with a kind of person like Deadpool. Regardless of it, his attraction toward the merc was nil. Absolutely none.  _'I-wouldn't-even-kiss-you-if-there-was-a-gun-to-my-head"_  kind of none. He would admit of course the guy had grown on him, just not like that. He really wished the flirting would stop. Unsurprisingly, he was completely unaware of his subconscious enjoyment of it. But nope, not in a million years. 

   
 He sat back up in his chair and checked his phone. No notifications. He looked briefly at the rest of the place, and took unconscious note of the people there. Nobody of interest. He crossed his arms and slouched back to stare at the ceiling again. Softly, the bell of the door dinged and the same stranger from last time walked in. Surprising he'd be here this reasonable hour, granted last time he'd been here in the early hours of morning. Well, granted, so had Peter. What the hell was that guy's name? It was on the tip of his tongue. Peter felt sort of bad for forgetting so quickly, cause the character had  _definitely_  left an impression, but he really was drawing a complete blank. Wayne? Will? Something like that? The guy had the same red sweatshirt, with the hood up still. Peter could kind-of see his face in the better lighting of day, but still it was mostly covered. He saw what he thought might be scarred skin, but he wasn't really sure what it was. The texture of the guy's face was weird. The guy caught his eye and started walking towards him. Shit. "He's probably gonna talk to me. What the  _hell_ is his name?" Peter thought. He wondered how he'd forgotten so fast, when he remembered it had left such an impression. He'd been thinking about the guy for nearly a week, but still entirely forgot his name.  

 

 "Peter." The man sat down next to him casually. "Wade!" Peter said a little too excitedly. He really didn't want or try to come across like he was happy to see the guy, it just slipped out when the name finally came to his mind. "I-Uh, sorry. Just-" He trailed off, not even bothering to come up with an explanation. He couldn't tell the truth without painting himself like an ass. "You –uh, you don't have any laundry?" Peter observed. "Tell you the truth, Petey, I'm just here for you." Wade winked at him from beneath his hood. Peter was.. Uncomfortable. ".. Why?" He asked hesitantly. " 

"A little birdie told me you're looking for a roommate." 

"What? How'd you know that?" 

"I can pay my part of rent no biggie, but I won't be around much. Got a pretty high-stakes job." 

Wade pulled a crumpled, partially folded piece of paper from the pocket of his sweatshirt and handed it to Peter. He straightened it out to look at it, and mentally facepalmed. Shit. Somehow, he'd completely forgotten the flier he'd put up a few blocks away last month looking for a god-forsaken roommate. He'd gotten one call, after about a week, and when the guy was supposed to come by to check the place out he flaked and Peter never heard from him again. It'd slipped his mind because of a particularly generous intern paycheck from one Tony Stark covered his rent last month. (Do interns get paychecks? Of course they don't. But recipients of the aftermath of Tony Stark's daddy issues do, and that title was near exclusive to Peter.) Not that that happened nearly often enough he wasn't still desperate for someone to split rent with, mind you.  

"So can I swing by tonight to take a look? .. At the place I mean. 

.. Or do I?" 

Peter cringed. "Yeah, I guess, tonight's fine. I gotta be honest man, I'm really not that keen on living with you when I don't even know what you look like. I have to do like, some kind of background check. What  _is_ your job?" He could see the other man tense up a little.  

"I do competitive ice dancing." 

Hey, where'd all these lawyers come from? 

"I'm a professional ostrich babysitter."  

"No, what you really do." God, this guy does remind him of deadpool. 

"Professional dog food taster." 

"Dude." 

"Fine. I'm a bouncer at the Starlight Gentlemen's Club." 

"Seriously?" 

"Seriously." 

Peter paused for a second. I mean, that does kind of explain what he said about the hours and not being home much. And the guy was built like a bouncer, not that Peter would notice such a thing. (He would definitely notice such a thing.)  He was probably telling the truth. But a strip club? Really? Classy. "Okay, but you still have to take the hood off." He noticed Wade tensed up even more. "...I'm really ugly." Peter's patience was growing a little thin. He still thought Wade was sketchy. He reached up to pull off the other man's hood, and before Wade could stop him, it was off. He was bald, and his skin was weird. Peter took a second to stare at the guy's face, trying to recoil from the initial shock. His features weren't actually unattractive, he was just scarred everywhere. Maybe he was a burn victim or something? Peter was never one to be quick to judge, but he was... confused. His whole head seemed to be covered in the scars, and Peter quickly noticed his hands were scarred too. Wade quickly put his hood back on. "Dude. So not cool. So I'll come by around six?" Peter was a little embarrassed at the thought he'd done something to offend someone else. It was super against his moral code. "Uh, yeah, six should be fine." He stood up to go retrieve his laundry to get going, suddenly he had an apartment to clean up, and that promised to be no easy task. 

 

"Um, yoo-hoo? Peter?" Wade chimed in.  

"Yeah?" 

"You didn't give me the address."  

If Peter had a dollar for every time he'd forgotten something this basic this past month, he'd definitely have enough for rent. It was probably the lack of sleep. Embarrassed, he pulled out a sharpie from his pocket and wrote it down on the back of the crumpled flier.  

"My number's on the flier. Text me if you have to reschedule or anything." Peter informed, starting his walk toward the door. He may or may not have been trying to turn his face away to hide a mortified blush.  

"See you then, sweetheart." 

Peter's eyes bulged as he walked faster out the door. He knew he was going to regret this. He swore a million curses that he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have to. Of course, he was actually looking forward to it, possibly having this weird-comedian-enigma-thing as a roommate, but his flustered discomfort over the word 'sweetheart' clouded any other emotion he could possibly conjure up. He knew one thing for sure, Spider-man was going to have a hell of a time with this guy. 

Peter made his way back home, put away his bag of newly-clean clothes, and quickly did a scan of the apartment. Not a  _total_  mess but also definitely not clean. He left his room alone, he really had no reason to clean it. Shutting the door will do. Frantically going about the place picking up garbage and putting things away started to give him flashbacks to attempts at cleaning up when his exes would come over. Peter tended to have pretty bad luck with relationships, and there wasn't really need to elaborate on the subject past that. He was stuck in a weird grey-zone of being too sensitive for girls and not sensitive enough for guys. He'd actually only been with one guy before, and like all his other relationships, it didn't end well. Something about "secret-keeping". Ironic, right? That ended last year, and there hadn't been another since. In the almost-six years he'd been the Spider-man Peter had come to realize he functioned better on his own. Not that he wasn't lonely, he was really lonely. Having shattered the remains of his social life with going out as Spidey every night since he started college two years ago, it was hard to deny the direct effect on his social skills. Maybe that's why he was so forgetful all the damn time. Not that Peter was never around people, he just wasn't ever around friends.

"I need friends." He sighed to himself, shoving an empty pizza box into a garbage bag.

(Cool it, DC lawyers. The phrase "I need friends" is not trademarked to the Flash.)

(Can you tell author has a thing for the Flash?)

After making  _some_  attempt to tidy up, finishing around 2:00, and dozing off on the couch, Peter awoke to someone rapping very loudly on the door. He scrambled to get up and open it, assuming it was Wade. His heart was beating fast, mostly from the jolt of being awoken so abruptly, partially from the nerves of actually showing Wade the apartment. He opened the door, much to his surprise, to a teenage girl. "Oh, uh, wrong apartment number. Sorry." She looked at the number on the door again, then at the one on her phone. She seemed pretty mortified as she walked off down the hall to #212. As he closed the door and sat back on the couch, Peter silently wondered if he'd written the right apartment number on the flier he returned to Wade. He'd text and ask, but then he realized he hadn't actually gotten Wade's number, he'd only given his on the flier. #202. Peter glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. 5:41PM. What perfect timing that girl had. He got up to go check his reflection in the bathroom mirror, making sure his hair hadn't been messed up while he slept.  _Not_  that he'd care about such a thing, he was only showing a potential roommate around the flat. Was wanting to look nice a crime? Subconsciously, he knew why he was doing it. When he'd actually seen Wade's face, despite the initial shock, he hadn't been repulsed. It was his accustomed nature as Spider-man to not judge books by their cover. He liked to consider himself a non-judgemental person. 

Most the reason he hadn't recoiled as much as someone else might was the fact he'd looked straight into the other man's eyes. Those eyes stuck with him. They were blue-ish, but more on the grey side, with a dark, blue-ish black ring around them. There was just something Peter saw in those eyes. He understood them. He went back to the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously and staring at the clock. God, felt like waiting for a date. "Jesus Christ, Peter, you just met the guy, and you're literally barely even friends. Keep it in your pants, you weirdo." He thought to himself. 5:59. He checked his phone. 6:00. A knock on the door. Not in a million years had he expected Wade to be on time. Totally fit the profile of someone who'd flake. He sprung up to answer the door, and this time it was actually him. He was wearing the same thing as earlier, this time with the hood down and toting the Hello Kitty duffel bag Peter saw last time they met. ...Why? "Sorry about this, just my work clothes. My shift starts right after this." Wade gestured to the bag. "Come on in," Peter opened the door wider. "It's actually a pretty nice place." Fully-blown lie. He was just poor. Desperate too. 

After giving him the grand tour, which only took about five minutes, and receiving some rather  _colourful_  commentary on the place (Wade had some interesting things to say, such as, "So this is where you crywank?" Upon being shown the shower and "So this is where the... Peter happens." Upon looking at the closed door to Peter's bedroom.) Peter asked if he'd take it or not. "How soon can I start move in?" Wade distractedly tweaked with something in the kitchen. "Is that a yes?" Peter coaxed. He paused. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then as soon as tomorrow. Rent is due next week, splitting it's two grand each. You can cover your half, right?"

"Yep." Wade said slowly, popping the "P".

 Peter felt a giant weight lifted off his shoulders.

"You don't have girls over often, do you?" Wade twisted his neck to face him from the dishware he'd been holding in the air. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, why?"

"Oh, no reason. Just trying to scope out how long it'll take me to win your heart."

God, this guy was persistent. And weird. 

"Judging from the Costco size bottle of lotion on your nightstand, I don't think it'll be that long." He added. Peter was mortified. When did he go in Peter's room? Honestly, not surprising. At least the guy said he can cover his side of rent, and at this point that is literally all that matters. Peter rubbed his temple with mild frustration. "Just have the money ready by next Friday." Wade put down the dishware and grabbed his bag from the counter, implying he was getting ready to leave. "Got it." He actually sounded serious. "See you tomorrow. I'll start move-in around noon. Cool?" "Cool." Peter got up to open the door for him. "Oh, by the way, how you said you won't be around much, I'm not really either. I'm a full-time student and I'm usually out at night, uh, partying and stuff." Peter added, avoiding eye contact. "Dude, you're a terrible liar. If you're a stripper, which is entirely possible from your ass, how you just lied to me about your lightlife, and the fact you're short on rent, come down to my club. I guarantee you we pay better." Wade said in a sarcastic monotone. "I'm not-" "Sure you're not." Wade walked out the door with a nonchalant wave and put his hood back up. He had a habit of comedic lying to make other people uncomfortable. Little known to either of them, both their lies were hiding things they'd never guess were so similar. Funny the way that works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I knooooooow I've been procrastinating, HERE.


	4. Chapter 4

1:22AM. Crown Heights. Brooklyn.

The neighbourhood was generally quiet. Cars passed by every few minutes. A few blocks away, a gang of teenagers were spray-painting tags in an alley, and a few feet away a homeless man was warming his hands over a trashcan fire. From a high building, the Spider-man surveyed the area lazily. He considered going to another neighbourhood to find some action, or  _something._  Tell the truth, he was bored. And tired. Glassy-eyed under his mask, he watched over the few blocks in his line of sight. He checked his phone, only to find his now-usual spam of texts from his now-flatmate Wade, asking or ranting about this or that. They'd been living in the same place for less than a week, and he was already being constantly bombarded with nonsensical texts, rarely pertaining to anything to do with the apartment. Mostly just irrelevant details. Like he was looking for an excuse to text Peter, which given how he'd presented himself so far, came as no surprise. The most recent one had been from 7:10PM, reading: "Looked in your room saw u weren't home. stole some socks from ur dresser. Hope u don't mind mine r all dirty. Texting to let u know I'm going out and prob wont be back till late. love u a bit. WW" Peter despised Wade's poor use of punctuation. Grammar too. The guy was actually growing on him, now they'd actually gotten to know each other a bit better. He wondered if Wade coming onto him would ever be mutual, and to be perfectly honest, wasn't repulsed by the idea. The guy had a certain weird charm. Mostly, the thought just went ignored. Despite the terrible grammar and general lack of filter, he was a pretty nice guy. Not that Peter would really know, they were still in pretty early stages of friendship. But he saw good in Wade. He wasn't really sure if  _Wade_ saw good in Wade, but there was hope yet.

Spider-man stood up and stretched, gearing to go find a neighbourhood with some crime to stop. Or at least something to do. He shot a web across the street, and started swinging west towards Manhattan. After twenty minutes travel he glanced down at the traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, he silently thanked that spider bite six years ago. Getting from Brooklyn to Manhattan in under a half an hour was an unheard-of miracle among New Yorkers. Webbing sure beats driving. The few stray people out at this hour looked up and pointed as he swept past building after building looking for conflict to split up. Finally, swinging swiftly down from the rooftops, the Spider-man sat in the canopy of a large tree on the edge of Central Park. After re-adjusting a few branches higher for the best possible vantage point, he started lookout again. After a few minutes of finally catching his breath, and two drunk girls on the sidewalk trying to take pictures of him, he heard a familiar voice from the ground. "Yoo-hoo? Spider-nerd?"

Peter sighed. "What is it?" He half-turned his head lazily. The leaves around him rustled.

"Thought you might like some company!" Deadpool shouted from the ground. 

"… I brought Mexican food!" He held up a brown paper bag. 

2:25AM. Central Park. Manhattan.

Spider-man and Deadpool sat on a park bench, eating Mexican food and generally, actually, getting along. It seemed like Deadpool had actually made effort to not seem like a  _full-tilt_ psychopath. They talked about strange criminals and things they'd seen 'on-the-job', but obviously nothing about their lives when the sun was up. Somehow, the flirting was minimal today. Some conflicting emotions arose in Peter's mind, and he wondered why he felt a little disappointed. He  _despised_ being flirted with, by anyone, not just the merc. He did kind of enjoy Deadpool's antics every once in a while, but generally they just left him feeling weird. Felt a lot weirder actually realizing he enjoys the company and romantic advances of a murderer with no morality. But that was a matter to deal with back home when they weren't sitting right next to each other. It was pitch dark outside, so neither of them had worries about half-lifting up masks to eat. There was some orange-y light from a street lamp a few yards away, but not enough to cast anything but shadow on their faces. The food had been mostly finished, and they were snacking on scraps. Somehow Deadpool managed to scoff down a whopping  _eleven_  chimichangas in a matter of about fifteen minutes. After a few minutes of silence, having come about from awkward laughter trailing off, Peter realized they'd both kept their masks up to just talk to each other. The cool breeze of early November on his bare face actually felt nice in contrast to the warmth of the suit. He still could only just see shadows and no real features of Deadpool's face, and he knew the merc couldn't really see him either. 

"You know, every time we go on these little play-dates it feels more and more date-like." Deadpool interjected the silence.

Normally, Peter would roll his eyes at the remark, but he couldn't really disagree.

"Do you have to do this  _every_  time?" Peter emphasized.

"Why  _do_ you do that?" He furthered, "Why do you do  _this?_ You know I don't see you that way. I don't actually even  _know_ you, not really. If you're joking about the whole thing, which you obviously are-"

"What made you think I was joking?" The merc interrupted.

"Because you joke about everything. Everything is a joke to you, it's like, the majority of who you are as a person. You flirt with everyone like it's nothing."

"… I don't flirt with everyone, and I'm  _slightly_ offended you'd assume so. Your ass is special, webs. Physically and metaphorically." 

Peter's temper grew irritated. "I told you how I feel about those comments, man. No, you do, man, like everything is just one big fucking joke to you, isn't it? Do your friends just-  _put up_ with you like I do? Do you even have friends?" Peter's voice raised slightly. "Man, I worry about you. You know that? I don't ever understand why you are the way you are.  You keep me up at night wondering, 'Hey, I really hope deadpool isn't going to go and strap a bomb to his chest to see if he can survive being blown up and take some innocent bystanders with him'. It's like you don't have any conscience whatsoever. You ignore everyone who doesn't agree with you. You ignore it like they're not even there. Like  _I'm_ not even there. Passing it off like a joke when people actually care about you is a pretty fucking shitty way to keep yourself distant." Peter was talking faster and louder now, and his voice was starting to crack. He felt bad, but damn this felt good. He knew he needed to let this out, but things were starting to come out that he  _really_ didn't want to come out. The other man stayed quiet for a minute, much to spider-man's surprise. He had completely expected an immediate retaliation, either joking or defensive, but never once had it crossed his mind that the merc might actually listen to him.

"You care.. About me?" Deadpool hesitated. There was a tone in his voice he hadn't heard before. He actually sounded one hundred percent serious.

"You kinda gave me no choice, dude. I've seen you do messed up stuff.  _Really_ messed up stuff. And you follow me around every night like some pathetic, annoying puppy. It's human nature I'd take at least a  _little_ concern to your general wellbeing." Peter laughed awkwardly, trying quickly to cover up the genuine sentiment he hadn't meant to let slip out. 

"I'm, uh- I'm ..sorry?" He sounded wary of not sounding sarcastic. Not surprising he wouldn't be used to apologies. Usually when Deadpool offended someone he'd just put a katana through their gut. "Fine. I'll stop being creepy and leave you alone. I'll go back to the weird, sad, little hole I crawled out of." He actually sounded sincere, even though it was in defensive, guilt-tripping kind of way, the sentiment was there. 

"Truth is, it's all just a coping mechanism. I am sorry." The merc stated.

"I, I-uh. I appreciate it. Thanks. Really. You don't have to leave me alone. Just check in, okay? Let me know you haven't gone full-tilt psycho every once in a while."

"Will do, sweethe- Webs." 

Peter smiled a half-smile and pulled out his phone. Still those pointless texts from Wade. He hadn't actually saved his number yet, he wanted to wait until next monday to see if the guy actually came through with rent money. "Ooooooh, who's that? Clingy uber driver? Weird aunt?" Deadpool leaned over, trying to get a look at the messages. Peter quickly put his phone back away and said shortly, "Nobody, just my roommate. ..Weird guy." His last word was interrupted when he turned back to see that the other man's face was way closer to his than he thought. They both hung in the awkward air around them. Suddenly that air felt really thin. They stood still for a strange moment, breathing shakily and quitely. This was... This was really awkward. He could just barely make out some of the merc's features,but really just general shapes. No detail. He had kind of thin looking lips. What the hell? He was suddenly very aware and very uncomfortable with the fact he was staring. Peter was entirely frozen as the other man slowly leaned a little more inward. The open eyes on Deadpool's mask were freaking him out. Was he being stared at under the mask? That's just weird. Did he- was he doing Peter thought he was doing? No way. Not in a million years.  As their faces grew closer, they were almost touching noses. He felt human nature taking over as he started to lean in, wary with half-closed eyes. Panicked realizing what was happening as the merc was just about to close in on him, Spider-man swiftly put his hand up and shot a web directly into an overhead tree. In a split second, he was sitting ten feet above Deadpool, his heart pounding out of his skull. Quickly, he pulled his mask back down the lower half of his face and shot a web a few yards away and started swinging through the trees, trying desperately to get away from Deadpool and whatever the fuck it was that almost just happened. " _NOT_ COOL, SPIDEY!" He heard a yell from behind him. Peter was in a state of complete shock and denial. He had to stop letting this guy encourage him into goofing off on patrol. This was becoming a problem. He felt like his heart was going to slip out his throat. He was sweating. He was  _not_ supposed to be anything but professional and calm, then waltzes in this walking disaster to try and distract him from his job. Too many thoughts and emotions to process right now. That'll be a deal for Peter, not Spider-man. He spent the rest of the night feeling generally mortified. 

6:58AM. Apartment. Manhattan.

Spider-man swiftly crawled through his own bedroom window, shut it, and changed his clothes. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom staring in the mirror at his fresh black eye. (crime fighting isn't a fun hobby.) Peter Parker fell asleep the minute he hit the mattress.

7:09AM. Apartment. Manhattan. 

Wade Wilson stood in the elevator whistling, a duffel bag containing a blood-soaked red suit in his hand. He unlocked the front door, peeked in Peter's room to ensure he was sound asleep, stowed the duffel bag back in his closet, and collapsed into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. Next one will be longer. Happy holidays or whatever.


	5. Chapter 5

6:15PM. Living room sofa. Apartment. Manhattan. 

Wade Wilson slept soundly on the couch, sprawled out in a position that did  _not_ look comfortable, snoring loud enough to sound like a bad attempt at faking sleep. But nope, sound asleep. Out cold. Peter Parker was infinitely grateful that the flat wasn't studio, and also completely grateful he didn't know why Wade was so tired. Being honest, he'd rather keep his knowledge of his roommate's life as minimal as possible. And he seemed like he probably did weird shit when Peter wasn't there. Peter glanced at him from the kitchen every once in a while. They'd been sharing the flat for exactly three weeks now, and it was going surprisingly well. Neither of them were ever home enough to have real conflict of any kind. It had felt good to actually go back to the normal routine of being Spider-man by night, actually stopping crime and such, since Deadpool had gotten off his tail. Not that he was actively avoiding Deadpool (He was), he just wasn't ready to talk about what happened last time they interacted. There'd actually been good balance in Peter's day life since Wade settled in. It took stress off him to actually have faith in his flatmate not cheaping out on rent. Much to his surprise, the guy had actually come through last month. Peter had his suspicions that Wade didn't actually work where he said he worked, but didn't care enough to wonder what else he would be doing. Their private lives were on a need-to-know basis, as in neither of them needed to know.

They had actually shared some decent interactions lately, and everything seemed to be generally good, so why fuck it up to know more about a personal life you don't actually care about? He interrupted his own thought to go back to putting away dishes. It's not like Wade's life is of any concern to him, right? He wouldn't want Wade poking around with questions about his, so why should he do anything but the same? Thoughts are weird. After storing all the dishes in the door-less cabinets (They were gone when he moved in. Maybe the last owner was going for the minimalistic, hipster-y look. Or they were poor.)  and microwaving an indistinguishable, pre-packaged frozen lump of what claimed to Thai food, he walked over to the sofa on a mission to stake his claim in front of the TV. It was his weekend off from classes and running Tony Stark's errands(And Spider-man) and he was determined to relax and watch a movie. Aggressively trying to relax is definitely a paradox, but one can always try. After wasting ten minutes trying to scoot Sleeping Beauty to the other side of the couch, he gave up and rolled Wade onto the floor. With a satisfying clunk and a "What the fuck, Parker?!" His roommate groggily accepted his fate and rolled a few feet closer to the TV. "Urghhhhh.. Star Wars? You're such a nerrrrdd." Wade groaned at Peter's movie selection. "You're a dick." Peter replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Suck it up or go in your room. It's my night off." (He actually had  _two_  nights off, but Wade didn't need to know that.) The Star Wars theme blared as the opening crawl for 'Empire Strikes Back' scrolled by onscreen. "But  _moooooooooommmm_ " Wade croaked, dramatically making a show of writhing on the floor in annoyance, "I don't  _wanna_ go to my room."  

"Then you're watching Star Wars." Peter laughed and kicked him lightly. 

"Is this the one with Worf?" 

"You're breaking my heart." 

" _You're_ breaking  _my_ heart. I wanted to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show. You know I have a thing for Tim Curry."  

"Well I guess I do now. Even as Pennywise?" 

" _Especially_ as Pennywise." 

"Gross." 

After a continuous half hour of snarky commentary being battled with "Shut up, Wade." They watched the movie mostly in silence. Only once was it interrupted by "What the fuck is this. Who in fresh hell is this stupid Jim Henson-looking motherfucker?", once again retaliated by "Shut up, Wade." By the end, Peter had fallen asleep against the arm of the sofa and Wade was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV like a child, thoroughly enjoying the movie. He had practically no idea what was going on, but didn't really care. He thought it was cute how much Peter liked this nerdy shit. Seriously. And he thought he was a nerd for liking Captain America. Not in a gay way though (Definitely in a gay way), just in an _I-have-a-weird-amusement-with-patriotism-despite-being-Canadian_  way. Even unrelated to his own open pansexuality, which was now bordering on Omnisexuality after watching Star Wars, Captain America is just fucking cool. He wondered if Peter was more of an Iron Man kind of guy. That nerd probably was. Bet he couldn't be a Cap guy without feeling like he was cheating on his sugar daddy. Peter would definitely be offended if he said that out loud, but hey, Peter can't scold him for wondering. He drew his attention back to the TV, and after a minute of dialogue he awoke Peter with a loud "What the  _fuck_ , man?!  _Darth_ _Vader is Luke's dad?_ " Peter sat up and rubbed his temples. "Was that really necessary? Of course Darth Vader is Luke's dad. It's like, the most iconic cinematic reveal in the history of cinematic reveals. How the  _hell_ did you not know that?" Peter stood up and started walking back to his room to go to bed. It was only 8:15 but he was tired. " _Where._ _Are. You. Going."_  Wade gasped. "To bed. Where do you think?" Peter monotoned. He left the room just as the credits started. He spent the next two hours with a pillow over his head, trying to ignore the soundtrack of  _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ and Wade's accompanying heckling coming from the other room.  Most notably: 

8:30: "Let's fuck the guy in the casket!" 

8:40. "Castles don't have phones, asshole!" 

9:05. "He's not gay! -Not gay?  _Not gay_?!" 

9:20. "Elbow sex! Elbow sex! Elbow sex!" 

10:10. "Instant audience, just add LSD!"  

By 10:30, he finally heard Wade's bedroom door close, and the rest of the night was silent. As annoying as his roommate's disregard for peace and quiet was, the comments he'd been hearing over the last two hours were pretty funny. He had never seen RHPS, and never intended to, but whatever would cause such weird out-of-context heckles was probably something worth watching. Maybe someday, but never a live showing. He'd heard those to be quite the R-rated, low-brow, chaotic, horny kind of riot. Not that Peter looked down on that kind of sense of humour, it just wasn't his thing. Not at all. He fell into a deep sleep at 10:45 and slept through the whole night for the first time in months. It felt weird –and good- to be in bed before sunrise. Finally, a peaceful night.  _Nevermind_ _._  He awoke to a loud rapping on his bedroom door. He sighed a heavy sigh and turned his eyes to the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:05. When was the last time he slept this late? Felt weird. "What?" He hollered back. The door swung open to the sight of his roommate, balancing a hefty stack of DVDs in his arms. "Parker, what the fuck? Why didn't you tell me how awesome Star Wars was before you turned into my strict ballet teacher from 3rd grade last night? Did you get the stick out of your ass in your sleep? Because it's time to prepare for an entire day of  _witty_ commentary on your most cherished nerd movies." He set the stack down on Peter's glass desk and turned his gaze to his roommate. Peter was groggily starting to sit up, yawning and rubbing his hands over his face and hair. He stood up and stretched without a word, ignoring Wade, and walked the long three feet from his bed to the closet. "I'm not Sue Storm, even though I could  _totally_ pull off her outfit, I'm right here. Talk to me, Petey." He piped, feigning sounding hurt. Peter glared at him through tired eyes, gestured his finger up for ' _un_ _momento_ ' and grabbed a shirt and jeans from his closet. He turned around and pulled his old shirt off in favour of the new one, Wade ogling from the corner. Peter looked over his shoulder and grumbled, "Do you mind?" And tossed the old top into the hamper. "I do mind. You a superhero or something? I literally didn't know the human body was capable of being that skinny and that muscular at the same time." Peter's heart skipped a beat at  _superhero._ "So, are we gonna watch Star Wars or are you officially too shredded to be a geek? Honestly, the line's really getting blurry." "Oh, we're watching Star Wars." Peter promised. "Prepare to have your mind  _blown._ " 

 

He would've  _much_ preferred to binge his favourite movies alone on his day off, but this would definitely do. He was actually growing to appreciate Wade's sense of humour. He shuffled out to kitchen and started brewing coffee. As soon as he'd finished his (Mediocre) breakfast of a still semi-frozen burrito and downed the last of the java, he sat in front of the TV next to a very impatient Wade Wilson. After a movie and a half, Peter actually felt himself relaxing on the couch and daresay enjoying himself. As much as the oblivious comments such as "Where's the green lady? Wrong movie?" hurt his lame little heart (What green lady? What sci-fi movie stars a green lady?) it was genuinely pretty enjoyable to watch someone else get introduced to  _Star Wars_ for the first time. Unfortunately, the biggest spoiler in the series Wade had already seen the night before, but regardless it was entertaining. About halfway through  _Return of the Jedi_  Peter interjected. "What about the prequels? We should've started with the prequels." Wade turned to him dramatically. " _THERE'S PREQUELS?"_  Oh man. "You can't have been expecting to binge all of them without watching the prequels. I mean, they kind of suck, but we still gotta watch them." His roommate stood up to rifle through the stack of DVDs in search of these fabled prequels. "Good news. I got them on accident." He beamed, holding up episodes I, II, and III. Peter smiled. "I guess we won't be watching them in order then. Man, you're gonna bully the shit out of Jar Jar Binks." "Sounds like someone I'd torture relentlessly." Wade confirmed.  

 

After about ten hours, even though he knew the plot, all the movies started blending together. They sat together on the couch, curled a little closer than he'd originally intended. It's natural tendency to drift closer when your sofa is that tiny, but he didn't really notice it until he was about to get up. He didn't really care what was going on, but nonetheless Wade remained enthralled. Did they really just waste his entire precious day off watching Star Wars? "You know you can't watch all of them in one sitting, right? It takes like, twenty hours to get through all of it. I hate to say this, but I'm gonna go study. I have to return to my hellish sleep schedule tomorrow. I had fun though, thank you. ...And I actually mean that. Thanks for buying all those DVDs." He stood up and took a long stretch. Wade avoided eye contact and changed the subject. 'Buying..' "What is this, high school?" "College, actually." He corrected. As Peter was about to walk off and close his bedroom, he heard a cat-calling blurt. "You know you've been in your boxers this whole time, right?" His face turning red, he flipped the bird behind him and shut his door. He couldn't believe how comfortable they'd unconsciously become around one another in the last month. A month ago, they were strangers who met by chance at a laundromat, now they actually got on well, daresay they were almost friends. Wade seemed to actually be pretty considerate, even though he made himself out to be worse than he was. Peter wasn't actually sure if he'd bought those movies cause  _he_  even wanted to watch them, there was almost an unspoken wonder if he just did it for Peter. He laughed a little at the thought.  _True love is enduring the Star Wars prequels to make someone else happy_. Not that they loved each other or- Or anything- Not like- Why would he think that?  

9:44PM. Peter Parker closed his laptop and sat at his desk with his head in his hands. This was getting conflicting. Maybe he was just fabricating emotions that weren't there because it'd been a while since he'd seen Deadpool? It was probably the lack of the merc's constant complimenting that made him convince himself his roommate and him were more than that. Not that he cared about Deadpool, he was just a voice of superficial ego feed. Pretty ironic he'd never actually seen Peter's face. He sat at the desk for an hour convincing himself of what was and wasn't, while little known to him, just through the wall, Deadpool was crawling out of his roommate's window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, this chapter isn't long. I've been wasting all my time reading stormpilot fics all week.


	6. Chapter 6

4:22AM. Street in front of some nightclub. East Village. 

A string of spun-up criminals bound in webs left a trail on the streets and back alleys of East Village, leading the way right to the middle of a crowded sidewalk. The Spider-Man was knee deep in violent crooks, fighting off web by web and punch by punch. There were six men, all yelling and flushed from drunkenness, trying to best the webslinger with kicking and bottle-throwing. They were almost more of a nuisance than an enemy, and not hard to fight off. Swiftly, he kept fighting back, barely getting bruised. A crowd of late-night partiers and the inebriated gathered in the few feet surrounding, too afraid and too trusting of their friendly-neighbourhood-crime-stopper to intervene in any way. He could most definitely handle it though. They'd ganged up on him after he'd swiftly webbed up their syringes full of  _very_ illegal highs from the rooftop above the alley they'd intended to shoot up in. He'd climbed down with the very intention to fight them, and expected nothing less than a fight. He only wished it hadn't shifted into the street, in view of all those who'd be out at four AM. Which, in East Village, there was no shortage of. Prostitutes and drag queens and drunken college kids alike huddled to watch the Spider-man fight off some criminals. As the junkies kept coming at him, he wondered how much longer they'd keep throwing their lopsided punches and tossing (And missing) their empty beer bottles at his head. Quickly, he glanced over between dodging punches to see that the crowd to his left was disrupting in noise and quickly parting. From a distance, growing louder, he heard a loud voice. " _CANONBALL!!!!!"_ It distracted him for a minute, just long enough for one of the men to finally get a hit in. A beer bottle loudly smashed against his skull, and he suddenly felt very lightheaded. The last thing he saw was the blurry image of Deadpool, running full speed in his direction, diving full force into the men fighting Peter. Just as he knocked four of the six men to the ground, in uncanny resemblance to bowling pins, he felt himself crumple to the floor with a rather unpleasant  _thunk_ _._ There was a vague feeling of being shaken, and then a general feeling of painful numbness.

4:46AM. John V. Lindsey East River Park. East Village.

Spider-man slowly opened his eyes, a sharp and painful ringing in his head. He blinked slowly a few times, slowly taking in the reality before his eyes. He felt wooden slats beneath his body, and quickly put together he was probably on a park bench. The sky was a dark, silk-like navy blue, littered with only two or three visible stars. He could catch the orange glow of nearby streetlights at the bottom of his eyesight. He sat up slowly, forearms against the bench. A spurt of anxiety rushed to his heart and sped his heartrate as Peter quickly put his hands up to his face to ensure his mask was still on. The wave dissipated quickly at the feeling of his mask under his gloved hands. Sitting all the way up, Peter winced as he readjusted. His head was stabbing with excruciating pain. Suddenly a very worried Deadpool came rushing up to him from a few feet away, having realized his regain of consciousness. "I- ugh. Where am I? What- What time is it?" He grimaced. Deadpool perked up, making attempts to help him stand. "Hey! Webs, you're alive! I thought for sure you'd have kicked the bucket from that blow. At least gotten to like, vegetable status. Severed _some_  kinda wire in your brain at  _least_ -" Spider-man interrupted him. "Man, shut up. Do you  _know_ how bad my head hurts right now?" Deadpool continued his rambling. "I mean, probably, you know I got stabbed in the head one time? On a first date too. He didn't even kiss me first." Peter's brain slowed to process that comment for a second. "… He?" 

"… Problem?" The merc retorted apprehensively.

"No I just, I uh, didn't know you swung both ways."

"I do! Violently. And with katanas." He proudly declared. 

The conversation paused for a second as Peter achingly rubbed his temples.

The association of anxiety suddenly rose again as he touched his mask.

"You didn't, while I was out, you didn't look-"

"Yep. Totally did."

" _You looked under my mask?!_ "

"… Not your mask."

" _Dude!_ You looked at-"

"Your wounds? Of course I did. Nasty bruise on your arm. Cuts on your neck from the bottle smashing. Wait, what'd you think I looked-"

"Nevermind." Spider-man instantly blurted. 

He stood up and staggered across the sidewalk to the railing over the east river. Deadpool hovered around him like a worried mother, making sure he didn't stumble too far without being caught. "I got it. Thanks, man." He patted the arm hovering around him, grimacing as he rested his arms on the cool metal. He was mortified he was this injured after fighting off nothing but some homeless junkies. Blame it on emotional detachment, I guess. Should definitely be less out-of-it on the job, but he couldn't help it. The complicated feelings bubbling up in his mind were getting harder and harder to ignore. He'd been stuffing things down with the whole  _What-the-fuck-I'm-not-supposed-to-like-guys-much-less-Deadpool-and-my-fucking-roomate_ thing for about a month now. It'd been two weeks since the last time he actually saw the merc, giving his questions and feelings more time to stew, and Wade was true to his word about not being home much, apart from in passing and their mutual days off, which tended to be few and far between. Peter would fully admit he'd been avoiding Deadpool after that weird interaction in Central Park. Meeting again was  _not_ by choice, and he considered himself way too much of a pansy to ever bring that incident up. He just hoped the merc wouldn't either, which he was entirely aware of being incredibly unlikely.

"So, like, are we gonna talk about the elevator in the room?"

"The what?"

"You've been, like, completely avoiding me."

Ah, shit.

"I hate to break this to you, because elevator is a much better word for the term, but it's actually  _elephant_ in the room." He was shamelessly trying to change the subject.

"Elevator sounds  _way_ cooler though."

"No it doesn't." Peter scoffed and smiled under his mask. 

"Are you okay to walk? I need to have my romantic comedy moment." Deadpool vacillated.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Wait... Your what?"

5:52AM. John V. Lindsey East River Park. East Village.

Deadpool walked on the ground, talking nonsense and gesturing violently with his hands, Spider-man talking back and  _Mm-_ _Hm_ _-_ ing along, swinging back and forth from the trees above. He was feeling much better, still a dull pain in the side of his head, but generally functioning well enough to go back out on patrol. He knew he should've said that close to an hour ago, but he was genuinely having a lot of fun indulging Deadpool's weird rambling. Patrol was over at 7:00 anyway. Peter scolded himself constantly for a few days after every time he hung out with the merc. It was like being in middle school and hanging out with the  _bad kid_ when your mom always told you not to. He couldn't help it. The subject of conversation shifted from subject to subject as they looped around the small length of grass over and over. As they were on the way back to where they started, the sun just a sliver in the sky, they passed on the sidewalk under Williamsburg bridge. Spider-man stopped his swinging above and crouched on the high rafters, peering down at his friend like some sort of super-powered red and blue bird. Deadpool stopped in his path to stare back up at him. "What? Don't get all voyeuristic on me now. You know that turns me on." Spider-man laughed uncomfortably and replied. "Well I do now. Careful, you might not want to tell me those things. I'm quite capable of using them against you." He challenged. "Is that a threat?" Deadpool spoke in mock seriousness. "Of course it's a threat." He was just being playful at this point. What's he got to lose? How he feels about this guy isn't anything he cares about hiding anymore. "… I'm officially convinced you're either inhumanly observant or you've somehow found my apartment and bugged it. You're not legally allowed as my friend to know, and purposely fuck with, my turn ons." Deadpool lamented. The sun was growing in the sky now. Spider-man swung to the next rafter, now directly above the merc. He hung upside down, not far from where the webs anchored on the metal beam. He looked east at the rising sun and asked out of pointless curiosity, "Hey, what time is it?" From fifty feet below, his friend pulled back his glove to reveal a wristwatch with a Spider-man logo on the watch face. "It is 6:28, m'love." "I can't believe you let me waste two hours of my night on you." Peter scoffed. "I can't belive you'd waste two hours of your precious time on little ol' me." Deadpool confirmed. "We gotta stop doing this." He slowly dropped down a little further. "… Yeah, but like, do we though?" Spider-man was almost at eye level. "I mean..." "Is this actually,  _seriously,_  about to happen?" They stared at each other both upside down. Peter put his hand up (Or down?) to the edge of the merc's mask. "… Can I?" He nodded gently, and uncharacteristically for that matter. They both lifted the bottom half of the other's mask, and after a few long seconds the initial wariness faded, and Peter's hand lingered about an inch away from the side of his friend's face. The silence in those few seconds felt so serene until Deadpool had to go and fuck it up. "So, does this mean I'm Mary Jane? Cause, you know, I've been thinking of going ginger. I really think it'd be a good-" His words were cut short by the sudden collision of their lips. It was such a cautious kiss at first, but within seconds both men had melted into lovesick teenagers. Peter's hand instinctively cradled the side of the other man's face, bringing it back closer to his own the first time he tried to pull away. It was only a few seconds, but it felt so impeccably right it was like it could've lasted hours. Finally, they both naturally pulled away. It felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, like something in life finally felt  _perfect._  Never, not in a million years, would he have guessed  _this_ would be it. Never could he have guessed the lips of the most obnoxious, disreputable, utterly  _chaotic_ person he'd ever met would be the ones he'd kiss and feel like  _this_ at. "I should get home. I have, uh, classes." 

"Please tell me I didn't just kiss a kid."

Spider-man hesitated. 

"… I'm twenty-one."  ~~And I definitely should not have told you that.~~

"Twenty-nine." The merc responded. 

"See you around?"

Deadpool sighed a content sigh. "Yeah. By 'yeah' I mean I'm going to follow you around every night from here on out. Congratulations. You're officially stuck with me."

"I think I'll survive."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. It's 3am.


	7. Chapter 7

11:51PM. Cinepolis Chelsea Theatre. Manhattan.  

A large crowd stood in waiting, fidgeting in their scanty clothes against the cold wind. Around the corner into the cross street the line came to an end, and at the very back of it, Peter Parker. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, feeling out of place with the people he saw. They hadn't even started letting people in yet, and he already knew he was going to regret it. The Marquis out front read in faded black letters: " _Rocky Horror Picture Show"_ and underneath it " _Friday_ _Dec. 1_ _st_ _,_ _Midnight_ _"_. Near half the light bulbs framing the sign were out, the others flashing on and off to look as if they were circulating. Watching them made him a little sick. He didn't like them. He didn't like any of this. If it were up to him, he'd be at home, studying or sleeping or  _something._  Spider-man should actually be out right now, but he'd cornered himself into a lie he couldn't get out of. He'd told Wade that he 'Had plans with friends' that night but it was insisted he cancel. Or, in Wade's words, "I swear to god, Parker. I will hunt these friends of yours down and I will personally annoy them to the point they either kill themselves or they cancel on you to go cry in their bathtubs. You're going to this whether you like it or not." After trying to shift the lie without giving away the truth for nearly a week, he finally gave in. There didn't seem to be a way out of it. He stared sideways at the brick wall rather than looing anywhere else. Peter pulled out his phone in desperate hopes of a text from Wade to confirm he was almost there. Doors opened in less than ten minutes and he was nowhere to be seen. Wade had promised he'd be there in time and that he'd only been hung up at work. (That was a lie. He was out being a pain in the ass to a poor convenience store employee over the lack of Peter's favourite candy. He was 100% willing to be late for that, and also 100% unwilling to tell Peter the truth about it. He wanted to be romantic. It wasn't romantic so much as it was weird, but the sentiment was still there) 11:59. C'mon. Peter fidgeted on his phone in discomfort. 12:00. The line started moving forward and he awkwardly shuffled along with it. As there were only six or seven people in front of him he realized that Wade was supposed to bring the tickets. "Shit, shit, shit,  _shit."_  He mumbled to himself, picking up his phone to call his friend. It kept ringing as he got to the front of the line. As soon as he was supposed to walk up to the door, Wade came running up beside him. Out of breath and holding two damaged boxes of convenience store candy, he held out the printed tickets. The woman at the door scanned them and told them to enjoy the show. Peter breathed a sigh of relief before scolding him. " _Where were you?_ " He hissed as they walked through the hallway to the theatre. He stopped for a second and realized Wade was magically about six inches taller than normal. "And  _what. Are you wearing._ " He stared down at his friend's feet. He was wearing a pair of bright red, sparkling stiletto high heels, and walking surprisingly well in them. "What? These are my Rocky shoes. You're  _grossly_ underdressed." He sneered at Peter's converse. "You look ridiculous." Peter put his hands on his hips. "No,  _you_ look ridiculous. Wait till you see this crowd." Wade leaned forward and looked down at him. They strolled into the room, and suddenly Peter felt, well,  _grossly underdressed._ People were meandering the place in party hats and garter belts and high heels, and it was the most beautifully bizarre display of human culture he'd ever laid eyes on.  

"Can we sit in the back?" He gulped. 

"Absolutely not. You need to see this up close and personal."  

"Can we  _please_ sit in the back?"  

"We'll sit in the middle." 

"Fine." 

Two minutes later, they sat in the front row. Wade went on and on about how lucky they were to have found this spot, and how Peter was gonna have the time of his life, and how this movie is what made him realize he was pansexual, and- Wait a minute. " _This_ is what made you come out?" Peter gestured to the people surrounding him. "Aren't these people all in women's clothes?" "You'll understand in about two hours." He hadn't actually known Wade was pansexual, but had no real reason to be surprised. A little discomfort sprouted at the realization that meant the flirting that'd been happening was probably serious. That was  _not_ something to dwell on right now, there was enough mental stimulation going on right now from the looks of this whole scene. The lights started going down and Peter sighed, trying to reassure himself this would be fine. A curvy, short-haired woman in a pair of black and white pinstriped shorts, a t-shirt that read " _Favourite Obsession_ " in dripping red letters, and a pair of  _obscenely_ ripped up fishnets jumped on stage. Peter leaned over and whispered "Are fishnets considered a necessity here or something?"  Wade lifted up his pantleg to reveal that  _he_ was in fact wearing a pair and beamed proudly at Peter. "Yep. I told you you were underdressed." The woman was bent over talking to someone standing in front of the first row as the spotlight trailed around the closed curtain. Lighting check? The light centered on her as she straightened up to address the crowd. "VIRGINS! WE NEED VIRGINS!" She boomed. Just as Peter was about to lean over to ask Wade what she meant, she pointed down at him. "Found one! Yes, you. C'mon, we see you. Get up here." She spoke with confidence. "I'm- what? I'm not a virgin-" He spoke back weakly, face turning red. "You're not a virgin?" A few laughs were heard from the audience around him. "Sure you're not." "She means Rocky virgins, dipshit. Get up there." Wade hissed. Peter stood up and walked onstage awkwardly, joined by seven or eight other equally confused, normally-dressed people. The woman paraded around, encouraging the crowd to heckle the poor uncomfortable souls. A hand holding a mint-green pool noodle protruded from the closed curtain, and the woman reached past him to grab it. Suddenly she grabbed the back of his head and leaned forward a few inches from his face, whispering. "You look the most nervous. We'll go easy on you, promise. Tell your boyfriend not to look so worried." She gestured her head quickly to his roommate a few feet in front of them. 

"He's not my-" 

"Sure he's not." 

"I'm-"  

"Straight? Not anymore." 

She let go of his head and slapped him lightly with the pool noodle. Facing the audience again, she began to explain the 'game' they were going to play. Peter's face grew redder and redder. The gist of it was, the quote-on-quote  _virgins_  were to line up front-to-back, with the pool noodle between their legs, and pelvic thrust it all the way through the line. He was utterly mortified. After what seemed like the longest two minutes of his life, he was indescribably relieved to walk offstage and back to his seat. He was expecting a storm of  _colourful_  comments from his friend, bur surprisingly all he got was an uncharacteristically considerate "You okay?". "Fine," He replied shakily, "But I'll have you know I'm  _definitely_  not going to enjoy the rest of this." He was wrong. This was great. Twenty minutes in, as the movie quickly turned from what he thought it was from the events of the first two numbers, he finally understood  _this_ being the catalyst for his roommate's pansexuality. Peter understood virtually none of what the audience was shouting at the screen, but the moment Tim Curry's character (Name?)'s cape came off, he got it. He got the whole movie. The audience, however, he was at a loss with. The rest of the night was filled with audience screams and heckles, unfollowable plotlines, and lots and lots of scantily clad men  _and_ women. Even though the initial discomfort never totally faded, it felt reassuring (and unfamiliar) to be around the kind of people who were this confident. He would probably go home and google what all of the screams and heckles actually  _meant,_ but in the moment, it was fun to laugh along with the jokes he didn't understand. Peter never thought he'd admit it, but Wade was actually right. He was definitely wearing heels next time.  

 

2:19AM. Apartment stairwell. Manhattan. 

Peter Parker and Wade Wilson trekked up the stairs, tired but happy. Peter stopped for a second at the few square feet of concrete before the 5th floor and grabbed his friend's arm. He stopped, and looked at Peter quizzically. "...Can I help you?" Wade puzzled. "I just wanted to say thank you for tonight. Genuinely. I had fun."  

"… Okay?" 

"You're supposed to say you're welcome, asshole." 

"Do you know how hard it is for me to not make a euphemism at that sentence?" 

"Harder than your dick at Rocky Horror?" 

Wade's eyebrow lifted. That was unexpected. 

"Can I ask you something?" Peter said, apprehensively. 

"If it involves bisexuality and/or attraction to you right now, the answer is yes." 

Their eyes remained locked.  

"No, pervert. Why don't you wear your hood up anymore? You used to seem really unconfident about it." 

Wade hesitated, realizing he'd caught on.  

"Do you want the truth?" 

"No, I want a blatant and unbelievable lie. Of course I want the truth."  

"It's you, actually." He scratched the back of his head, breaking their eye contact to stare sideways at the wall. "You bring out confidence in me. I  _don't_ go outside without my face covered. It's only when you're with me." 

Peter hesitated. "… Really?" 

"Don't make me say it again. You already know I have a heart boner for you." 

"A  _what?_ " 

"A heart boner. It's like, a boner in your heart. It's not love and it's not sex, it's like, both. And neither." 

"Wade, what the fuck?" Peter shook his head and laughed.  

"Can I kiss you?" A statement of starkly bold questioning. 

"Definitely not." Peter replied, suddenly breaking the tension to pass him, and continue walking up the stairs to their apartment on the seventh floor.  

 

2:22AM. Apartment. Manhattan.  

Peter Parker slipped his shoes off and made his way to his room. Wade Wilson followed closely behind, stopping at the kitchen in search of snack. Swear to god, the guy seemed like he ate twice what anyone else could every day, and 2AM wasn't an exception to that schedule. He sat on the couch for a few minutes, eventually glancing up to notice that Peter had left his door open. Peter doesn't do that, not ever. Taking note of it, but not intending to inquire, he crumpled the now-empty bag of chips he'd been eating and tossed it into the garbage. He stood up and walked to his own bedroom door, a few feet from Peter's, wondering if there would be any more interaction for the night. God, he hoped so. Wade paused for a minute before ducking into his own room, and just as he was about to close the door, his roommate peeked out of his bedroom, hand on the doorframe.  

"Hey." 

"Hey?" 

"So, do you want to like," Peter rolled his head back and took a deep breath. "Say fuck it?" 

"Be specific. I like to think I say 'fuck it' to most things in life." Wade replied. 

"I mean," He shifted his weight, "Do you want to just, call it like it is and say that was a date?" 

"Like, a  _date_ -date?"  

He swallowed. " _Date_ -date." 

Peter patted the doorframe and smiled. He turned around and shut the door. He stood tensely with his hands flat against the back of the wood, eyes shut tightly. He sighed heavily and tried to ignore the screaming conscience in his mind.  _You're leading him on. You're leading the_ _other_ _guy on. What are you DOING? Go back. Tell him you were kidding. Or tell Deadpool he_ _didn't mean anything. FIX IT. FIX. IT._  

 

" _Date_ -date." Wade smiled. 


	8. Chapter 8

11:12PM. Clinton Hill. Brooklyn.

 

Two figures clad in red sped across the rooftops, blurry in their pursuit of a man in what seemed to be a homemade superhero -or villain- costume of some kind. The speed of the pursuit was unreal. They weren't going to be kind to this spandex-donning assailant. The Spider-man tried at every angle to cut him off, swinging thread by thread in his efforts. The merc behind him was running full speed, miraculously jumping between the rooftops, katanas unsheathed and yelling every obscenity in the book. At last, a well aimed and frankly _lucky_ web caught the man around the ankles, toppling him face-first into the gravel-coated floor of the roof of a tall building. Spider-man swung himself up the side of the building to assure their man in question didn't get away, leaving no regard to the speed at which his partner was running behind him. In a short second, crouching over the webbed-up fake-hero, he looked down just in time for the unfortunate sight of Deadpool jumping starfish-style into the side of the skyscraper. Spider-man opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but it wasn't worth it. Too late. " _Man, what the FUCK?_ " His voice diminuendoed as he rapidly neared the ground. With a rather unsatisfying _splat_ the merc hit the sidewalk below.  

 

About five minutes and an awkward elevator ride with a scared and confused businessman who was quote, _“ just here for a meeting”_ later, Deadpool rejoined his partner on the roof. The assailant (Ha ha, ass-ailant) had on a green morph-suit under a halloween Green Goblin mask (Timelines? What’s that?) and a pair of _unforgivable_ thrift store sneakers. “So why’re we after this guy, anyway?” Spider-man inquired. He’d been told they needed to catch a criminal in a “Full-body alien dick costume” and _stupidly_ hadn’t thought to question it. He was actually starting to trust Deadpool, but in hindsight, not inquiring further on this one wasn’t a great call. He winced, waiting for a bad explanation. (Is it Weasel? Are they pranking me? I bet it’s fucking Weasel.) The merc marched up to him matter-of-factly and leaned forward. “I will have you know that _this_ man,” He pointed downwards at the man’s back, “Has been terrorizing people on the street all over Brooklyn, starting gang fights, acting shady as _fuck_ in _way_ too close proximity to schools and the little _angels_ that inhabit them, acting a general shady fool for that matter, and we just caught him, and I will ALSO have you know that it is _not_ in fact Weasel in a halloween mask.” He marched back down and crouched in front of the man’s face. “Isn’t that right?” The criminal grunted in reply. Spider-man recoiled for a moment. Did they _seriously_ just track down an _actual_ criminal who wears green tights and off-brand stinky reeboks? I’ll be damned.

 

“I-” He paused. “That’s actually a good step for you, stopping a real criminal, you’re finally taking yourself seriously as a-”

“Ah, who am I kidding, it’s totally Weasel.”

“ _What?”_

“Gotchaaah!” The merc cooed.

He pulled the mask off the assailant and yep, Weasel.

“ _Dude!”_

“Dude, yourself! This is totally on you! You know I’m being written off as a chaotic neutral!” Deadpool pleaded,

“Yeah, man, y’know like-” The merc’s friend was quickly interrupted.

“Zip it, rodent.” Spider-man said shortly.

“Nice quip. 6/10.” His partner chimed in.

 

“I’m disappointed in you, man. I thought you were actually taking this seriously. I’m sorry but like, especially after what happened,” He hesitated and lowered his voice a notch. “I thought you might make some effort in life to not keep disappointing me. I _want_ to trust you.” Back at normal pitch, he sputtered. “Man- I just, can we just- You know what? Let’s talk about this when you can take it seriously. You know where to find me.” Turning his back to his friend, he gracefully jumped from the roof, and swung away into the distance. His friend stood on the roof taken aback, processing the statement. After a second, he ran up to the ledge and shouted, “ _NO I DON’T!”_ but the web-slinger was already gone. A moment of silence passed.

“So is he like, your boyfriend or something?”

“Eat a _fucking_ dick, Weasel. I told you I’m dating Peter.”

“You don’t shut up about it.” The bartender murmured.

“Damn right I don’t.” He crossed his arms assertively.

“No offense man, but it was like, one date, I don’t think-”

In a split second, Weasel heard the sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

“ _Nevermind, nevermind, you’re dating Peter,_ ” he struggled against the webs confining him to the ground.

Deadpool stored the handgun back in its holster and promptly walked over to the staircase entrance. “ _Wait, Wade,_ aren’t you gonna cut me out of these things?” His friend panicked, writhing in place on the ground.

“Spidey says they dissolve in like, 6 hours or whatever,” he said nonchalantly. Drowning out Weasel’s complaints and pleas, he halfheartedly flipped his friend the bird and closed the door behind him.

  


1:15AM. Central Park. Great Lawn.

 

Spider-man sat on a bench, leant forward, elbows resting on his knees, with his head in his hands. The red webbed mask lie beside him, and a messy head of dark brown hair tangled around his gloved hands. (Have I ever written a more cliche fanfic line? The answer is NO)  He wasn’t crying or in any real emotional distress. It was just confusion. He wanted so _badly_ to trust his friend, but things seemed to just be getting more and more uncomfortable. He’d dug himself into a hole. Normally, Spider-man was his escape from the social or personal or _whatever_ struggles in life, it worked to fist-fight and tackle and arrest away his emotional problems, but now there was no escape. Spider-man was just as conflicted as Peter. The whole roommate situation was almost not even a concern compared to what was happening in his life at night. He knew he had to make a choice, and stop leading one of them on. It was the right thing to do. He sat back up and tapped his foot, breathing quickly and crescendoing in anxiety levels. Peter Parker weighed his options. He actually _liked_ Wade, and felt like he could trust him. But what about the whole _already-living-together_ thing? What if they decided it didn’t work? It’d be easier, logically, to break the idea off now and just be roommates.  He can find a relationship somewhere else. It’s inappropriate. But that one night last week? It was the best Peter had felt in his _limited_ dating life in a very long time. Was it really _him,_ or was the happiness just from feeling desired? But- He knew internally it _was_ Wade, but at this point it didn’t even matter. A choice had to be made.

 

 _Deadpool_ . Oh, fucking Deadpool. What a fucking thorn in his side. Peter’s head turned hot as he grew in anger, thinking over what had happened. He gave him a _chance._ He went out on a ledge. It felt so right at the time, but all it did was make things worse. He had so much good feeling towards his friend, almost even flighty-teenager-y feeling, but after that kiss, things felt different. Like the knowledge it couldn’t ever work had contaminated the idea of them continuing to like one another. Now the merc probably has the idea they’re an _item._ Fuck. Why hadn’t DP brought it up? It seemed like something he’d take and run an annoying comedic marathon with. The tension in having not said anything was almost worse than the fact it even happened. _Almost._ It was his fault this even happened, with both Deadpool _and_ Wade. _He_ was the one who, in a moment of weakness, actually _initiated_ a fucking _kiss_ between him and the obnoxious mercenary whom was so pathetically devoted to him. _He_ was the one who had to go and call a normal activity (Although he still considered Rocky Horror _far_ from normal) like going to a movie a fucking _date._ Peter knew he was leading them both on. He got himself into this mess, and he was going to get himself out of it. But how?

 

A rustling in bushes across the way alerted his spider-sense, and hastily he returned the mask over his features. Instinctively, Spider-man stood up, on-end in unknowing. The hairs on the back of his neck twitched, readying for possible violence.

 

“Just me! Don’t shoot!” Two red-and-black gloved hands waved from the bush.

“You voyeuristic piece of shit.” Spider-man seethed. “I’m not in the mood.”

He processed his own words for a second, and suddenly his heart dropped.

“You didn’t- You didn’t see me without my mask, did you?” He worried.

“What? No. I just got here.” Deadpool quizzed.

“I don’t have time for your shit, man. Did you or did you not?”

“I didn’t. … Promise.”

Peter’s nerves loosened a little. That sounded sincere. Even if the merc was lying, he was just so tired at this point, he wouldn’t even have anything to lose if Deadpool had seen him.

“Can we talk?” Deadpool climbed rather un-gracefully out of the bushes.

“About what?” Spidey sneered.

“Tax returns. What do you fucking think?”

“Are you actually gonna be serious?”

“That one’s still up in the air.”

Spider-man sighed. He sat back down on the bench and gestured for the merc to join him.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Me neither.”

“Okay, you know what man? I’m just gonna lay this out for you.” Spider-man began. “What happened that night, in the East River Park? We need to forget that. I don’t know why I did it, and as much as I hate you sometimes, _well,_ most the time, you don’t deserve to be lead on like that. I have someone else and it’s not fair to them either. So I’m sorry, I guess. I’m not saying you’re not still partially at fault here too, though. But whatever the nature of this relationship was, or is, it’s going to stop. From now on we are absolutely nothing but colleagues. We work together. That’s it.”

A moment of tense silence played by as Deadpool processed the statement.

“I, uh- I came here to tell you the same thing, actually.”

“What?”

“I know, we’re like, psychically connected or something.” He wiggled his fingers between their faces. “But yeah. I found a _someone else_ too. I’ll stop the flirting and stuff, all of it, I promise.”

“... For real this time.” He added.

Another moment of silence.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Yet another moment of silence.

“So what’s your _someone else_ like? Must be a _real_ charmer that you’re picking them over me.” The merc chatted.

“He’s uh- he’s cool. We’re not really dating, actually. It was just one date. But it’s mostly a crush thing.” Spider-man admitted. That was honest, and without a doubt _all_ he intended to say on the subject.

“Sounds like quite the romantic. Does this casanova have a name?”

“Not one I’ll be telling you anytime soon.”

Deadpool started a plead, but bit his tongue. Best not get on Spidey’s nerves right now.

“Well, it’s best I’ll be going. I’ll go crawl back into the bushes now. There’s a portal in there, you know.”

“Okay. … Are we cool?”

“Yep.” Deadpool said, popping the ‘p’. That sounded weirdly familiar. Where had Peter heard someone say it like that before?

  


7:39AM. Apartment. Manhattan.

  
Peter Parker stood in the shower, hands resting on his neck. He felt better, but not by much. At least there was some confliction off his plate. He desperately hoped he made the right choice by letting the merc go. Guess we’ll have to wait and see. And what of Wade? Guess we’ll have to wait on that too. They’d arranged a _lavish_ living-room hangout to watch movies this Saturday, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited for it. Maybe things will sort themselves out the more time they spend together. As he speculated who would _possibly_ ever want to be Deadpool’s “someone else” he found himself to be a massive hypocrite. Truth was, Peter wished he’d been the “someone else”. The confliction didn’t wash away into the drain like he hoped it would. Just water. And a few tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy SHIT, sorry I've been gone so long! Some stuff happened in January, and when I finally sat down to write I goofed and somehow got my microsoft word stuck in Spanish. Thanks to a commenter suggesting google docs, I'm back at it again. Next chapter will probably be the last! ALSO, I am in desperate need of cover/chapter art for this, so if ya'll feel like helping a guy out..


	9. Chapter 9

Saturday night. 9:41PM. Apartment. Manhattan.

 

The lights and sounds of the small TV projected against the otherwise pitch-black room, creating long shadows over the opposite sofa and coffee table. It’d be an almost anxiety-inducing environment for Peter Parker, if not for what was projecting on the TV itself, and the warmth of his _sort-of-but-not-quite-I-don’t-even-know-what-to-call-you-other-than-my-”someone else”,_ Wade Wilson, sitting relaxed with his legs up on the table, allowing Peter to curl against his chest. They’d agreed upon going back-and-forth on the movie picking, and the contrast between genres every two hours was staggering, and almost comedic. Opposed to his last pick, _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ , which he made evident did _not_ do justice to the book, Wade’s choice of _Labyrinth_ was… Interesting, to put it mildly. Upon meeting for the first time Peter wouldn’t have ever pinned his friend’s movie taste to be so… Strange? Flamboyant? He had expected Wade to be the type to enjoy dumb action movies, you know, that generic Tom Cruise kind of bullshit. _Not_ David Bowie and Tim Curry. Nevertheless, the overreaction he received upon admitting he had never seen either Labyrinth nor Rocky Horror Picture Show lead Peter to the logical assumption his roommate’s favourite films were probably pretty dear to his heart. Best go along with it, I guess. Whereas RHPS had been an, uh, _experience,_ he had enjoyed the parts he could make sense of. Labyrinth, however, was a painstaking, torturous experience for him. Sure, the songs were good, he could appreciate it objectively, but personally? Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Not that he’d say it out loud, because there were two certain ways Wade would react. A, immediate defensive mockery of Star Wars, or B, genuine expressed disappointment. The former seemed more likely, but out of kindness he didn’t feel like testing either one. He didn’t want to fuck it up if the reaction was B, anyway.

 

Peter’s eyelids grew heavy, and he curled closer to his friend’s chest.

 

“You’re like a cat when you do that.” Wade remarked fondly.

 

“You’re like a dick when you make me watch kids’ movies.” He mumbled.

 

“Ouch.” Wade put a hand over his heart in mock pain. “ Did you hear that? That was my heart breaking over your uncultured taste in film.”

 

“Sorry, no. I couldn’t hear you over Jennifer Connelly’s terrible acting.”

 

“That _does_ it. You, my man, have crossed a _line_. If you don’t wanna watch, go back to your nerd room and study or something.”

 

Peter reached his hand upwards lazily to lightly shove his friend’s face away from him.

 

“You’re a grade A dick.”

 

“Funny. My last girlfriend said the same thing.” Wade gazed down and winked at him in the cheesiest way he could muster.

 

Peter scrambled to sit back up, checked his phone for the time, and yawned.

 

“Y’know, I think I’m actually gonna hit the hay. Tell me if Jareth ever puts on some appropriate pants.”

 

Wade stared at him as he turned the corner into the tiny hallway, saying nothing. It felt out of character (That’s because it’s a fanfiction) but Peter could sense the twinge of real disappointment in the air as he shut the bedroom door behind him. He felt bad, he really did want to stay sitting how they had been, _even_ watching Labyrinth, but something internally just felt so _bleh_ towards everything the last few days. It’d soon be two months since Wade had moved in, and about two weeks since the “date” incident. He didn’t like to consider an incident, but kept it that way in his mind for lack of better word. He liked what he and Wade had, _a lot,_ and it was almost weighing on him more to keep stressing over making it “official”. Peter knew at some point he’d snap, but he was secretly just praying that Wade would snap first, just so he wouldn’t have to be the one to bring it up. Every part of Peter’s psyche was practically _begging_ for one of them to snap, but he just lacked in the courage. He had it in his mind that everything would be clear after stopping whatever he had with Deadpool, but honestly, hardly any of his confusion had gone. Peter felt… Weird. Just, weird. Nothing but weird. Shoving away his thoughts, he laid down in bed, turned out the light, and stared at the ceiling. Just as the thoughts were melting away, drifting into sleep, he heard a deafening _clunk_ , a loud _snap,_ and a string of colorful curses, followed by a knock on his door. Peter glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 11:44. He sat up, turned the light back on, sighed and shouted, “ _What do you want, Wade?”_

 

His roommate let himself in, wincing instinctively at the quick realization light was being cast over his scarred upper body, as for a reason Peter didn’t care to explore, he was shirtless, with a pair of _completely fucking unsurprising_ and _God-awful_ ripped and raggedy, bright blue sweatpants patterned with floating muppet heads.

 

“Do I want to know?” Peter asked tiredly.

 

“I _may_ or _may not_ have just broken my bedframe and spilled Mountain Dew all over my mattress.” He said, avoiding eye contact, scratching the back of his head.

 

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Go sleep on the couch.” Peter turned the light back off and rolled over.

 

“Awww, c’mon babe-”

“Don’t call me babe.” Peter grumbled from under the covers.

“Awww, c’mon dude-bro,”

“Don’t call me that either.”

 

Woah. Deja Vu.

 

He paused, recognizing that he still sensed Wade’s presence in the doorframe.

 

“... You’re gonna stay there until I let you sleep in here, aren’t you?”

 

“The couch smells like feet and bad movie taste. But mostly feet.”

 

With a slightly angry sigh, begrudgingly, “Fine. Try to cuddle me and I’ll knife you.”

 

“I’d really prefer it if you spooned me instead.”

 

“I really wish I hated you.”

  


3:02AM. Apartment. Manhattan.

 

Peter Parker lie on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling. Wade Wilson lie next to him, sprawled out like a starfish, fast asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the whole building. “My _one_ fucking night off, my _one_ night of full sleep, does God hate me? I think god hates me.” His thoughts were filled with annoyance. “Is this really what I want? Why do I keep convincing myself he’s so annoying? He just wants to be affectionate. God, Parker, you have some commitment issues.” He rolled over onto his side, facing the half-pillow and arm-obstructed sleeping face of his now biggest source of internal conflict. Why? Why, why, why, why? He slowed himself as he began to stare at the unconscious face of his roommate/friend/semi-sort-of-boyfriend, cringing at the thought of _boyfriend_ and some, well, most of the anger melted into appreciation. He was who he was, even though it got on Peter’s nerves, he had no right to try and change Wade. Maybe they might actually work. Maybe it was actually _Peter_ that needed to change. Suddenly, his running mind was interrupted by the realization Wade had opened his eyes, and was now staring back appreciatively, and a bit quizzically.

 

“Hey.” Wade whispered.

 

“... Hey.”

 

“What’s new? Any riveting commentary on the pattern on the ceiling?” He rolled slightly onto his side to face Peter. Suddenly, Peter was _very_ aware of the lack of space between them. He breathed out, you know, that breath you do when something’s kind of funny, but not funny enough to laugh out loud. That breath. Quickly realising neither of them seemed intent to break eye contact anytime soon, his heart rate started climbing, the nature of the conversation setting in. Every single part of Peter’s psyche was chanting at him, “ _snap,snap,snap,snap”_.

 

They lie there, staring, half-smiling, half-asleep, for an indefinite amount of time. Neither knew how long had past before Wade finally broke the silence.

 

“So what happens here? You talk first? I talk first?”

 

“Was that a _Force Awakens_ reference?”

 

“It sure was.” He half-whispered proudly.

 

Thirty seconds passed.

 

“Do you want to, like, talk about whatever this is?” Wade raised an eyebrow.

 

“Whatever what is?” Peter’s voice heightened a bit unintentionally. His heart started climbing up his throat.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“What?”

 

_Please, for the love of God, tell me he’s going to snap first, please, for the-_

 

“I guess not then. Should I stop? Like, all together? I gotta be honest man, it started as a joke, but we have this _tension_ that I find like, _totally_ hot, but if you’re really not into _this,_ I’ll stop.”

 

_No,no,no,no,no,no, this is NOT what we wanted, c’mon Parker, just do it, just snap, just-_

 

“Thanks.” Peter swallowed.

 

_Do it, just do it, grab him, say fuck it, tell him not to stop, never to stop-_

 

“... Yeah.” Wade shifted to roll over. In a split second, with his heart in his throat, Peter reached out and grabbed his friend by the crook of the neck, quickly and shakily pulling him into an intense and frankly _awkward_ kiss. Wade shifted back to face Peter, mind racing with a million “ _I told you so-s”_ and “ _what the FUCK-s_ ”. After a second, both of them softened into the puzzle-piece-like-fit of their colliding lips. They stayed there for a few seconds in absolute euphoria on both sides. Finally, with all his self restraint in place to do so, Peter pulled away and retracted his hand from the place it’d found gripping the back of the other man’s head. Both breathing shakily, both staring wide-eyed in surprise, the doubts and confliction dissipated into pure, unadulterated certainty. Yeah. Peter snapped. Wade shifted to lie on his back, and laced his fingers over his chest. After a moment the other man did the same. As they lie there, side by side, both grinning like idiots, there was an innate sense of _right._ Suddenly, Wade’s neck twisted to face Peter, and he spoke with frank confidence.

 

“So you’re Spider-man?”

 

Peter’s heart started beating rapidly, dropping into his stomach.

_What? Is he joking? That’s Wade making a joke, right? Why the hell would he ask that? Do you think he really-_

 

Peter swallowed nervously. “What?”

 

“Yep. It’s you.” Wade lifted his hand to the side in gesture of a handshake. “Friendly neighborhood Merc with a mouth, at your service.”

 

 _Hooooooooooooooo shit. Hooooooo shiiiiiiiiittt._ _Whatttttt the fuck. Whaaaattttttt the fuck._

 

Peter was suddenly drenched in sweat.

 

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

  
  
  


6:59PM. Apartment. Manhattan. Three months later.

 

“ _Hey, Douche-pool, what did I tell you about katanas in the dishwasher??”_

 

An un-masked but Spider-suited Peter Parker stood in the kitchen, yelling.

 

“Sorry, darling. Have you seen my left glove?”

 

“Just wear one from the winter clothes bin, asshat.”

 

“My gloves are protective and _leather_ and _custom-made_ , you monster. They’ll tear a winter glove to shreds. You don’t want my hand to get cut off, do you?” Wade wandered distractedly into the living room, also fully suited apart from his mask, which he held in the same hand as the dagger he was sharpening.

 

“It’ll grow back.”

 

“Okay, mom.”

Pausing to admire his work, and deeming the dagger “ _stabby stabby”_ enough (Wade’s words. Not Peter’s.) Deadpool sheathed it in a pouch on the top of his boot.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

Peter swiftly walked over to his boyfriend, grabbing the Spider-man mask from the kitchen counter on his way, and indulged in a peck on the lips before both put on their night-time identities. Waltzing out the door together, the red-clad duo rode the elevator to the roof, from where they began patrol for the night.


End file.
